


Local Gods / Broken Bones

by Feyland



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, Ghosts, Haunting, Magic, Monsters, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feyland/pseuds/Feyland
Summary: A series of short fics based on 2019 Jehanparnasse Week prompts
Relationships: Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Kudos: 7





	1. HAUNTED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 - Haunted
> 
> Cw - ghosts

Jehan began to notice something off about their new flat when their perfectly healthy jade plant blackened overnight.

“Oh, Mathilde,” they sighed, touching the soft, rotted leaves with gentle dismay. “What happened to you?” They put a finger to the soil, wondering if they had overwatered the poor thing, and immediately drew their hand back. The once nutrient-rich earth was slimy and cold and smelling of putrescence. 

“What in the world did this?” they said aloud, more out of shock at the feeling of the sludge than anything else. They certainly weren’t expecting an answer. But something akin to a breeze moved through the still apartment and down their neck, as a whispered voice, clear as day, said “I’m sorry.”

Jehan whipped around, their hands up to defend themself, only to see an empty room, no sign of anything other than their imagination there with them.

*

Three days later, Jehan watched, frozen, as a teacup slowly inched its way across their kitchen table. They struggled to breathe, and forced themself to move – not towards the cup, but away from it, out of the flat, fumbling to lock the door behind them as their fled their apartment. They weren’t quick enough to miss the sound of shattering china from the other side of the wall.

*

They returned later later, equipment borrowed from Joly and Bossuet tucked into their bag. They breathed deeply as they entered their home, bracing themself up for what was to come. With more confidence than they really felt, they marched straight into the kitchen, ignoring the shattered teacup on the floor. With shaking fingers, they pulled out the five long candles Joly had given them, set them into the accompanying stands, and struck a match to light them. Turning off the kitchen light was harder to do, but they reminded themself that whatever was in their flat had no problem being active with the lights on anyway. With one last deep breath, they flicked the switch, and crossed to the table. Sitting down, they pulled out the borrowed spirit box, setting it on the table, and looked around the room as candlelight flickered across it.

“Hello,” they said, trying to hide the hint of a tremble of their voice. That wouldn’t do. “I think there is someone here with me in my home. I’d like to speak to you, if that’s alright. I have a device that is supposed to make it easier for you to answer me, okay?” 

Jehan waited a moment, listening hard, but no response came from the empty air. They leaned forward, finding the switch on the side of the spirit box, and turned it on. Immediately, the small kitchen was filled with loud white noise, as the device sped through radio frequency. Bossuet had sworn up and down the energy of the box would help a spirit communicate, and with little else to go on, Jehan took a breath, and spoke.

“Hello,” they said, hesitantly. “I think there might be someone liv- sharing this space with me. I just wanted to, ah, get off on the right foot I suppose? My name is Jehan.”

Jehan had barely finished talking when the even static spiked into clear words.

*****I****KNOW*****

Jehan started, a thread of cold running down their back. The voice, even run through a machine, was distinctly similar to the one that had come from behind them while they mourned their plant.

“Okay, okay, okay,” they murmured to themself, trying to ignore the pounding in their chest. “Do you, ah, have a name?”

*****YES******

“….would you tell me what it is?”

****-ARNASSE****

“Arnasse?”

****MONT***PARNASSE****

“Montparnasse?”

*****YES******

“That’s a lovely name. Thank you.” Jehan paused, waiting to see if the spirit – Montparnasse – had anything further to say, but the loud static stayed unbroken. It seemed he was more interested in a conversation than a monologue.

“Montparnasse, do you- are you aware of what you are?”

*****YES******

A pause, and then:

****GHOST****

“Hmm, yes, well that’s good to know for certain. I wasn’t keen to break any bad news to you. One last question for you, if I may – If I were to make myself a cup of tea, would you mind keeping it intact at least until we finish our conversation?”

The spirit box was nothing but static for a moment until Montparnasse’s voice came through again, his words making Jehan break into a smile.

*****NO*****PROMISES*******


	2. WINTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 - Winter
> 
> Cw - Major character death

It snowed the day Jehan died. 

Winter came on fast, freezing the ground and covering Paris in grey regret. It was far too early, far too soon, painting Jehan’s beloved garden plants in frost until it withered, waiting for spring and a gentle hand to revive them.

Inside, Montparnasse mourned. 

“When I die, I want to be a tree,” Jehan was fond of saying. They had done their research, pointing out companies to Montparnasse that would mix ashes with seeds, giving the dead a second chance to grow.

Montparnasse was not quite so fond of these conversations. Secretly, he believed he would never be tasked with planting Jehan’s memory – surely he would be dead long before they expired.

Fate was crueler than expected, and the ground was too hard to plant new life.

Montparnasse kept Jehan’s ashes safe, resting on the windowsill, as though they could see the white-coated world through the walls of the urn. Montparnasse kept them safe and waited for spring, despite all evidence that it would never come again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always kill off one of them on Day 2 it's tradition.


	3. TENDER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - Tender

Jehan liked to call it ‘quality reading time’, where they would coax Montparnasse onto the couch with them before draping a blanket over them both and settling in with a book. It wasn’t hard to do, really, since Montparnasse was always happy to be close to Jehan – and besides, the latest issue of Vogue had just dropped and he was glad to have the time to study it.

But even as the beautiful fabrics and gorgeous people on the glossy pages vied for his attention, Montparnasse’s eyes kept wandering. Jehan was curled up on the far end of the couch, so heavily engrossed in their book, they didn’t notice Montparnasse’s gaze as he watched them read. Their face changed as they read, their brow furrowing for a minute as they flipped a page with some urgency, and then smoothing a moment later, their mouth falling open a little before breaking into a smile. Montparnasse felt his own mouth mirror them. He would never need another book again so long as he had Jehan’s face to read.

They were enchanting. 

He didn’t mean to interrupt them – didn’t mean to move at all, really. But he was already crawling forward on the couch when Jehan looked up in surprise.

“I love you,” Montparnasse breathed, the words like sugar on his tongue. He wanted to share the taste, and so he leaned into Jehan’s smile, kissing them with all the sweet softness he could manage. They hummed under his lips, kissing back with tender enthusiasm, pulling Montparnasse forward. He leaned into them, wrapping his arms around them, breaking from their lips long enough to kiss their hair, their temple, their nose.

“I love you,” he said again, reverent as a prayer. 

“I love you,” they sighed, and Montparnasse felt dizzy. How strange it was to not believe in God, but to live in a miracle. He held them closer, breathing into their hair, and savouring his own heaven.


	4. TOWER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 - Tower

The date was at 8 pm.

At 7, Jehan read their tarot cards.

It had long been their tradition to do so before going out with someone new, a glimpse into what the future might hold, should they allow it.

They lit candles and set themself on the floor, breathing into the ground as they shuffled their deck. They ran the cards, worn from use, through their hands, feeling for the ones that seemed to cling to their fingers, as they thought hard about the man at the centre of the request. Black hair, black gloves, black coat, black shoes – green eyes, like a poison as deadly as the charm of his gaze. Lips Jehan had wanted to kiss from the first words that passed them. A voice like the echo of smoke. 

They pulled out a card.

Handwriting that curled over their skin when he had given them his number, the long, smooth cursive that sighed his name: Montparnasse.

They pulled another. 

Coy text messages that had made their heart whir like a clockwork thing, and then curled into the blush in their cheeks and down through their core, electricity sparking below their navel.

They drew the final card and set the rest of the deck aside.

Flipping over the first card, they smiled at the blatant meaning. The Fool, a figure of optimism and spontaneity that invited in new beginnings and carefree enthusiasm.

The second followed suit, the Two of Cups, sending Jehan the sweet, curling message of commitment, partnerships – and love. They let out a happy sigh. It didn’t mean anything firmly, of course. It was no promise of true love or endless commitment. But the potential was there, and that was everything they could ask for.

Jehan flipped the third card – and frowned. Destruction. Dramatic Changes. Ruin. Loss. A lightning-struck Tower glared at them like a single cruel eye. They examined the others, trying to understand the warning. The Tower meant a new start, but at the hand of chaos, and unexpected change. Perhaps this is what the cards were telling them.

They swept the cards back up into their deck, shuffling again with thorough, practiced ease, a new question in their mind – Why?

One. Two. Three. The cards landed, and Jehan turned them eagerly. The Three of Wands, crowing of opportunity and success, the promise of adventure. The Sun – abundance and joy, achievement and success. And – the Tower.

Jehan stared. The same card in the same spot, offering nothing but an unblinking omen of devastation.

They snatched it back up, slipping it back into the hand. Their third shuffle was wilder, less practiced, moving the traitorous cards between their hands with grim determination, until one slipped from their fingers, falling face up. Jehan laughed, incredulous, at the image of the crumbling tower, brought down by lightning.

“Well alright, then,” they said aloud, something strangely comforting dancing in their chest. It was not misgiving that followed them as they put away the cards and finished preparing for the date. They left their apartment on light feet, with just the embedded hope that if Montparnasse was the Tower, he was ready for Jehan’s lightning.


	5. BATTLE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 - Battle
> 
> Cw - Light smut, non-explicit intimacy

Montparnasse’s back hit the wall, hard, his breath leaving him in a low groan as Jehan pressed up against him, teeth and tongue working against his neck and down to his collarbone. Their hands were frenzied, sliding over his clothing, pushing at the shoulder of his jacket until Montparnasse managed to piece together what they wanted and shed it as best he could, letting it fall to the ground as Jehan hummed, pleased. Soft as they were, they weren’t gentle with him. They let their hands slide down to his hips and shoved, leaning in to add more pressure to Montparnasse’s pelvis, and tilted their head up to chase his lips in a hungry kiss.

Montparnasse caught shaky breaths in the tiny pauses of Jehan’s attack, trying to win back at least the air in his lungs. It was hard to do, especially under Jehan’s quick fingers hastily moving to unbutton Montparnasse’s shirt. He could feel the tension in their body, and their own breath coming out hard and uneven. He waited until they reached the last button, saving what strength he had left in his wobbly knees until they had reached for the button of his jeans, and he moved fast, hoisting Jehan up onto his hips as they let out a muffled squeak of protest against his mouth. He grinned against it, ignoring the indignant gasps and the scrape of teeth, focusing instead on steering them towards the bed. Jehan hooked their ankles together behind Montparnasse’s back, redoubling their efforts to keep his lips against theirs as he stumbled across the room and tipped Jehan backwards onto the mattress, their firm grip on him bringing him down with them.  
  
“Mmmf,” they said, nuzzling into his neck, their limbs still firmly around him as they let him adjust himself on top of them. He ran his hands over them, smiling when they immediately let go of him and raised their arms the second he reached the hem of their shirt. He peeled it off of them, more roughly than intended but too desperate to feel their skin against his. Jehan’s legs were still around him, and they raised their hips to grind against him as he tossed their shirt to the floor, moving forward to cover their body with his.  
  
“Fuck,” Jehan gasped as one of Montparnasse’s hands closed over their breast, his thumb dragging across their nipple, raising goosebumps along their flesh.  
  
“If you’d like,” Montparnasse rasped, trying to sound suave rather than totally wrecked. It was hard not to feel wrecked around Jehan, with their softness under his hands, with their breath hot on his neck, with their fingers again reaching for his waistband.  
  
He had been waiting for them to try it again, and his fingers were around their wrists and up over their head before they could finish their protestation. He broke off the sound with another bruising kiss, moving his mouth to their ear.  
  
“I win,” he murmured, and then let out a breathy laugh at Jehan’s responding moan. They rolled their hips again, the friction of their bodies too far apart with layers of clothing still in the way. Montparnasse lay another scraping kiss against the hollow of their throat, and pushed back up to pull off his open shirt, mirroring Jehan’s previous actions as he ground against them, savouring the way they shuddered and tensed under him.  
  
It was the tension that fooled him, though.  
  
The clench of Jehan’s stomach muscles combined with Montparnasse’s forfeited balance created the perfect window for Jehan to flip them both, sending Montparnasse sprawling across the mattress, as they climbed on top of him before he could catch his bearings.  
  
They moved their hips, biting their lips and smiling down at him, half-naked and fully in control, their hair spilling over their bare skin like fire.  
  
And as they leaned in to him, to breath, “No, _I_ win,” Montparnasse was glad to burn.


	6. CURRENCY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 - Currency
> 
> Cw - technically character death (not shown, not angsty)

Jehan was standing by a river. 

They didn’t remember arriving. They didn’t remember where they had been before it. The river in front of them was dark and murky, rippling gently though Jehan could feel no breeze.

They looked up. This place felt enclosed, but they could not see anything above them, neither darkness nor sky. Instead, their vision went fuzzy as they try to squint up at it.

A small splash drew their attention back to the river. A long boat, low in the water, glided towards them. Where it had come from, Jehan could not say – it had not been there a moment before. At its helm, a tall figure cloaked in black steered the vessel, the handle of a long pole clutched in their hand. 

Jehan blinked as the boat neared. Somehow, they felt like they had been expecting it.

As it drew in parallel to the shore on which Jehan stood, the figure reached up to pull back the hood of their cloak. The face beneath was lovely and pristine as marble, youthful yet mature, and fully fixed on Jehan.

Jehan frowned. “I know you,” they said, surprising themself with their certainty. “I’ve heard stories. You’re Charon, aren’t you?”

“To some,” they man in the boat replied, his voice as cool and rolling as the dark water below him. “It’s more of a title, really. I go by Montparnasse these days. Names are a funny thing. I do know yours, though, Jehan Prouvaire.”

Jehan liked the sound of their name from Montparnasse’s lips.

“Am I dead, then?” they asked, turning the words over in their mind, unable to come up with the right emotion to accompany them.

“You are.” Montparnasse’s response was devoid of either comfort or satisfaction. “I have come to take you across.”

“To where?” Jehan asked.

“To the next place. I hear it’s quite pleasant – you needn’t worry. But I haven’t had the time to visit myself. This job keeps me busy.”

“Do you do this for everyone?” Jehan asked, more curious, somehow, in the existence of the ferryman than in whatever they would find on the far bank of the river.

“Everyone who has ever lived and died,” Montparnasse affirmed. “Though I do have something of a schedule to keep. And I have to collect your fare before we depart.”

Jehan reached automatically for a pocket, but found nothing in the loose robe they seemed to wear. “I have nothing,” they said, suddenly crestfallen at the thought of not being able to afford to board the boat.

“Have you checked your mouth?” Montparnasse asked.

It was strange how his words seemed to manifest themselves. Jehan felt a slight weight on their tongue, a metallic taste filling their mouth. Cautiously, they opened it, pulling out a single silver coin that certainly had not been there for the length of their conversation. 

Montparnasse held out his hand, and Jehan dropped it into his palm. The hand disappeared into his robe, and emerged again, empty, and extended once more to Jehan. Jehan nearly protested that they had nothing more to give when they realized that Montparnasse was offering them aid in boarding the small craft. Lightly, they took his hand, stepping into the boat, making it rock gently as they sat down on the wooden bench, facing towards the ferryman at the stern.

“You don’t want to watch for the other side?” he asked them as he pushed off from the shore, moving the vessel in long strokes of his oar.

“I’m sure I will be able to see it once we get there,” Jehan replied, their eyes fixed on Montparnasse’s face. “What am I meant to do once we make it, though?”

“Whatever you like,” said Montparnasse. 

“May I come down to the water?” 

“I suppose.” 

“To talk with you?” 

Montparnasse paused a moment, his eyes on the horizon. “If it would make you happy.”

“Would it make you happy, though?” pressed Jehan, and felt a quiet surge in them when Montparnasse lowered his eyes to meet theirs.

“Yes,” he said decisively, and Jehan smiled. “I would like that quite a bit.”


	7. MONSTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - Monster
> 
> Cw - implied violence

Montparnasse had been called a monster plenty of times in his young life, a compliment if he had ever heard one. What people liked to call monstrous, he liked to call successful. If it was monstrous for him to take things – money, trinkets, lives – well, let them call him what they will. It did little to hurt him, and even less to stop him.

People also liked to whisper about the company he kept, too. The sweet, plump face of his lover caused gossip to stir – that Montparnasse had plans to leave them, broke or broken, like so many other before them.

They really needn’t have worried. 

It was a lovely evening when they were jumped. Montparnasse and Jehan had been walking, hand in hand, when long shadows had spilled across their path ahead, and fast footfalls came up from behind. Perhaps the assailants had assumed Montparnasse would be unarmed when out with his soft, innocent lover. Perhaps they had hoped Jehan’s presence would at least mean something of a distraction for the monster that haunted the dark streets of Paris.

Montparnasse had raised his hands and let the armed men back him up against a stone wall. Once he was at their mercy, their attention to Jehan was lost as they snarled threats and demanded restitution from the young man, still looking far too smug for his own good. 

Perhaps if there had been a keener eye among them, they might have noticed Jehan’s shadow begin approach them, the fingers lengthening and sharpening. Perhaps if they had bothered to turn and look, they would have seen the soft brown eyes ripple to blackness. 

Perhaps they might have had a fighting chance.

Montparnasse smiled. He may have been a monster, but he was not the only one.


End file.
